


Somewhere in the Night

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, F/M, Sad, Sentimental, Sound Torture, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: When Gil wakes, he thinks he'll see Jackie's chestnut eyes smiling, telling him she's made French toast for breakfast. But it's much darker than that. And he can't find a way out.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Sound Torture. Major Gil psychological whump.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Jackie Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Somewhere in the Night

Jackie and Gil listened through dozens of songs to pick the one for the first dance at their wedding. They debated genre first, passing rock versus R&B versus something else across the couch while they watched _Cheers_. Then came conversations of songs and artists, some being one hit wonders and others having multiple successful albums. They played through them making dinner, dancing around the kitchen; continued them while she graded papers in the living room.

They'd heard the full songbook of soon to be Arroyo by the time they decided: _Don't Stop Believin'_. It met their mutual love of uptempo so they could be lively and cover the full floor. Musical breaks were throughout in case they wanted to talk. It told a story they liked to think was strangers meeting each other and finding more, like Gil had found Jackie at her father's mechanic shop. Or she'd found him, she'd remind he'd been uncharacteristically speechless at the time until she started the conversation.

And he hadn't shut up since, she'd tease. They listened to it a few times over in the kitchen, Jackie telling him he was messing up the words while she was chopping scallions and he was stirring the mixed beans. He stuck his tush out and bumped into her when he saw the knife flat on the counter. Repeated the same incorrect lyrics again.

He'd dreamed of her cooking so many times, woken night after night thinking he'd find her next to him. Meals, bed, home - all of it was theirs, and he didn't know how to have them without her. Though others said time passing would help, it didn't. He couldn't take off his ring. He just...couldn't.

So when he wakes to _hold on to that feelin'_ , he thinks he'll see her chestnut eyes smiling, telling him she's made French toast for breakfast.

But it's dark. His body rests on a loose definition of carpet, his hands brushing along its rough surface. He's crunched, his fingers continue along a wall and metal roof.

A trunk. He reaches for where the pull cord should be, yet finds nothing. _Livin' in a lonely world_.

Was the music on _repeat_?

Of course not. It’s blasting tens of decibels too loud. He's confused, and stuck, and he needs to discover a way out. No phone in his pocket. He punches toward the back seats and finds...no seat backs. How great of his captors to put him in a fancy car.

He pounds the trunk lid thinking he might be able to get it to budge, but it's pointless. His knuckles just get skinned.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice bellows from outside.

 _Livin' in a lonely world_.

"Enjoy the music." A laugh joins the cacophony.

* * *

Gil can't see anything but her chestnut eyes. Together, apart, together they cover each corner of the small floor. Forty of their closest friends and family are gathered in the community hall, but they're blurred to the background.

They two step, Gil's hand massaging the small of Jackie's back. Forgoing tradition, they trade lead when the song gets faster, Gil telling Jackie they're equal partners. That she's the better dancer anyway. He dips her at a corner, memorizing every highlight sparkling across her face.

And they trade. She spins through the middle of the floor, glints touching her puffed sleeves, her bodice of corded flowers and sequins, cascades of fabric swirling at her ankles. He starts toward her, shaking his hips to the beat. Smiles through her spotlight, giving her a chance to shine.

She rejoins him just before the chorus and whispers in his ear, leaves a brush of a kiss on his cheek. At _don't stop believin’_ , she flies around in a circle, thinking her feet won't ever touch the ground again.

She tells him when they're back at home, her hair crunchy on his shoulder, their bare skin covered with a strewn sheet. She thought the spin would go _on, and on, and on, and on_ -

The music blasts from the interior of the car. If he keeps his fingers against the wall, vibrations carry into them. Dump past and present into the paint mixer, making an ungodly hue. He needs it to _stop_.

 _Hold on to that feelin'_. Who had been at their wedding who would do this? Or in his life at the time? It wasn't like they'd kept the information a secret. They were excited.

 _Streetlight people_. He'd upset a number of fellow officers when he quickly climbed the ranks. Bright would start there. But he can’t imagine one of them would do this.

 _Just a small-town girl_ \- he needs her.

He rubs his fingers over his eyes, trying to press away the tears that threaten. Sound waves pummel him with want for his wife. Strength weeps out of him.

* * *

The voice doesn’t return. Gil thinks of Bright and how he would’ve calculated how many times the song had played by now. Minutes of song length into an hour times hours. Explained the breakdown of verse, pre-chorus, and chorus. Rattled on competing against the notes.

But Gil’s breaking down just fine without him. The trunk holds the dance floor, every step and sweep across it, yet no warmth of Jackie. He shivers from…he doesn’t know what…keeps trying to shift off pressure points in his hip and shoulder to no avail, and makes the tough decision to pee downslope toward the tail.

He doesn’t know how he got into this mess, or how to get out of it. _Hidin’ somewhere in the night_ , _the movie never ends_. Chestnut eyes look back at him in the dark.

* * *

Getting out of Dani’s car at a garage in the Bronx, they can hear _Don’t Stop Believin’_ from the parking lot.

“Really like their Journey,” JT comments, knocking on the front door.

 _Streetlight people_ turns into _just a small-town girl_ and no one has come to the door.

“He’s here,” Malcolm affirms. His hands fiddle in front of him tossing an imaginary ball back and forth.

“Maybe they don’t hear over the music,” Dani suggests. Though Malcolm’s concern fidgets off him, Dani has hers zippered under her jacket. It’s been twelve hours since they last saw their boss, and after missing breakfast, Malcolm insists something is wrong. They believe him when Gil doesn’t arrive at the precinct.

“No, I mean Gil’s here,” Malcolm repeats, hand gesturing at the three bay garage.

She quirks her eyebrow at him. His phone may have been last used in the location, but that didn’t mean he was there.

“It’s their wedding song. It’s looping.” Malcolm gestures again, energy flying to his fingertips, ready to fling the door open himself.

“NYPD, open up!” JT pounds much louder.

No one responds, so JT tries the handle. He swings open the door to an empty lobby, no one at the front desk or chairs. “NYPD!” he hollers again. _Livin’ in a lonely world_.

He opens a second door, taking them into the bays. They’re all empty, save the far one, where rests a black LeMans with a crushed roof. “Guys, that’s a Bright-sized dent,” Dani comments.

 _He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere_. “Can we shut that off?” JT complains.

“Car doesn’t have a tape deck,” Malcolm shares. So they’d have to find whatever was playing from inside.

They walk closer, looking into the cabin, yet don’t see anything. “Maybe it’s under the mat or something,” Dani suggests, reaching for the door.

The car rocks with banging from the trunk before she can pull the handle. They whip around to the rear, and Malcolm raps his knuckles on the lid in response. “Gil?” he shouts over _shadows searching in the night_.

“Help!” Gil’s yell and pounding come through over the music.

The trunk lock stares back at them. JT runs to the tool chests, looking for a solution. Dani checks around the car, but doesn’t find any keys.

“We’ll get you out,” Malcolm reassures over _workin’ hard_.

JT comes back with a hammer, wedge, and a pry bar. He shares some of the tools with Dani when Malcolm stops him with a hand on his shoulder. Malcolm holds a finger up and runs over to the tool chests himself.

After slamming through drawers, Malcolm returns with a cordless drill and a screwdriver. The bit he’s chosen is huge. He hands over the tools to JT, who sticks the screwdriver in his back pocket. He presses a finger to the lock and takes a step back.

The metal of the lock fights against JT, and he’s sure he’s going to break off the bit inside. He rotates around the hole, sometimes not able to hold the drill straight, grappling with _don’t stop - don’t stop - don’t stop_ , but fails, needing to take a break when it feels like the bit won’t push any further.

Malcolm takes over, starting the wrestling match all over again, but he perseveres until the bit punches through to the hilt. He takes the screwdriver back from JT, poking and twisting until the lid eventually pops.

The smell of piss greets them, mirroring the wine and cheap perfume their ears have been threatened with. JT reaches into the trunk and pulls Gil stumbling out. Gil’s lax on his feet and heaves once he’s upright leaning on JT, the light and sound too much. JT leads him away from the car, lowering him to sit on the blacktop. _Don’t stop believin’_ keens through his head. “Make it stop,” Gil pleads, tucking his ears into his shoulders and covering his tear-stained face.

Finally, Dani finds the bluetooth speaker underneath the driver’s seat. She turns it off, and the raucous cuts.

But the feeling holds on. Gil’s whole body shakes, rocking from foot to seat. Malcolm sits next to him, facing him. “Hold me,” Malcolm instructs, and folds his arms around to Gil’s back. Gil’s arms latch around him; Malcolm doesn’t think he’s ever been held so tight.

JT’s on the phone getting an ambulance.

Gil can’t stop the tears that bleed in a steady trickle from his eyes. He squeezes his kid, the closest person he has that remembers his wife. “I saw her,” his voice breaks from the pain.

Gil blinks several times, and a bit more of the building around them comes into focus. “Jackie,” Gil buries his face into Malcolm’s shoulder, wanting to unsee all of it.

It’s what was her father's mechanic shop. The counter she’d introduced herself at. The garage they’d snuck off to in the middle of the night, necking behind an old car. His car. His _car?_

Who the fuck did this?

* * *

They take enough blood to run a myriad of tests and give him a sedative. They’ll re-evaluate his hearing and mental state in the morning.

Gil wakes to _just a small-town girl_ , yet finds _just a city boy_. He rubs his ears, trying to quell the ringing that never ends.

The eyes are blue rather than chestnut, yet they share the same depth of love. “You’re awake,” Malcolm observes with a watery smile, squeezing his hand.

Gil learns they’d found ketamine in his system.

Sees the boy they’d told their love for him would go _on and on and on and on_.

Knows Martin Whitly’s behind _rollin’ the dice just one more time_ , _hidin’ somewhere in the night_.

For an umpteenth time in his life, he wants to kill Martin. Paint his smirk the garish shade he'd created in that trunk. Slice him apart until every last piece of him is dead - dead - dead.

But he holds onto his kid, thinks of dancing in the kitchen. Twirls his ring, remembering her feet floating around him. No matter how much time passes, his love goes on.

* * *

_fin_


End file.
